The Worst Timing of Anyone in the Known Universe
by r4ven3
Summary: The date this story occurs is the evening of October 31, 2009. Thus, it's a Harry's birthday fic, but that is just an excuse for a one shot set at this time of year, although my main motivation for writing this is because I really love to write dialogue for all three characters. Definitely one chapter only.


Saturday 31st October 2009 – 7.51pm:

Ruth looks up from her monitor in time to see Harry cover his yawn with his hand. She's counted three yawns in the last fifteen minutes alone, and that last one made four. It's time she acted.

She gently raps her knuckles on his office door, so by the time she enters Harry is leaning back in his chair, his eyes on her.

"Is this important, Ruth? I have .." and he hesitates, glancing down.

"Your need to go home, Harry," she says, "to sleep." As she approaches the desk, she follows his gaze to the document open on the desk in front of him, the one which had held his interest for the past thirty minutes or more, and she suspects had brought on his yawning.

"I have to read and absorb this before I leave," he says quietly before lifting a folder containing the document so that Ruth is able to read the words: EYES ONLY on the front. "But," he adds, standing, "I could do with a comfort break. Maybe you could look after this for me, just in case anyone …" and he then turns to enter his private bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

Devious sod, Ruth thinks. Is he expecting her to _read_ it? The folder holds at least twenty A4 pages, and she's no speed reader. She quickly moves to his side of the desk, and turns to the first page, where she reads the heading: _Proposal For Restructuring and Redefining All Sections Within Mi5._ She only has to read the first two sentences of the first paragraph to understand the deeper meaning.

"Holy cow," she breathes aloud before she takes her phone from her pocket, and begins to photograph each page, beginning with page one. What she is doing is no doubt illegal, and could be grounds for her dismissal, but if what she suspects this document is suggesting is true, then she may be out of a job anyway.

Ruth has only just finished snapping all twenty-four pages, and has slipped her phone into her jacket pocket when Harry returns from the bathroom. To her eyes he appears refreshed, and no longer out on his feet. For a brief moment she wonders had he faked his yawning as a ploy to lure her to his office, but then dismisses the idea. Harry normally reserves such levels of deceit for his dealings with politicians, or members of the JIC.

"What do you think?" he asks, standing beside his desk, gazing down at her in that direct and intense way he has, and which she'd not seen from him in the previous nine months since her return to London.

Since the debacle of her return Harry has been respectful, while remaining at a safe distance, his communication with her only ever about matters relating to their work. Ruth is prepared to admit to herself that she misses the exclusivity, the intimacy of the working relationship they'd once shared. During her time in exile she'd matured. She is now open to accepting that she and Harry may actually be good for one another.

Her mind is like that. One thing will pop into her head, and from there her mind will take a left turn into uncharted territory. For all she knows in the time she had been away Harry had grown weary of waiting for her to return, and had become happily partnered with someone else … someone who knows what she wants, and that what she wants is him. Ruth is still not absolutely certain that what she wants is Harry, although George's face has faded in her mind, her memories of him only ever of his darker moments; his sharp tongue, and his long silences when he was missing his dead wife. She wants to move on; she _must_ move on. She needs to open herself to the possibility that very soon she and Harry may need one another.

"I think it's disgusting," she says.

"Why?"

"Because _that_," she says, pointing to the offending folder which Harry is about to lock away in the bottom drawer of his desk, "is a sign of things to come. It speaks of a new broom which is about to destroy every good thing you've built."

"Are you hungry, Ruth?"

She stares at him. Only Harry can change tack so easily, their previous exchange locked safely away in the bottom drawer, along with the Eyes Only document. She longs to quip: _Is the Pope a Catholic?, _but she's not quite that brave – not yet. In the end, all she does is nod.

Harry offers her his first smile of the day. "There's a place I know not far from here. Do you feel like a walk?"

* * *

They are in a booth in a far corner of the small bistro, and Harry has ordered a bottle of wine. It is clear to Ruth that Harry comes here often. She wonders has he brought other women here, perhaps while she was away. If he had she can hardly blame him. She'd not exactly offered him encouragement. She is about to ask him how he knows about this place, hidden away as it is down a side alley, when he speaks.

"I hope you don't mind, but I ordered us each the soup of the day. It's vegetable hot pot." Ruth feels a momentary stab of irritation that he had ordered without first consulting her, but she keeps that to herself. "I usually have the soup if I end up here of a Friday or Saturday night. Their soups are legendary. They've never let me down in all the time I've been coming here."

Ruth lifts her eyes to his. "And how long is that? You make it sound like this place has been trading since the Middle Ages."

Harry is watching the wine in his glass as he swirls it around. Ruth notices how the edges of his mouth lift ever so slightly whenever he smiles. He lifts his eyes to hers. "Maybe it has. It's been here since I first began working in central London."

"The staff clearly remember you."

Harry nods. "I'm something of a regular." She longs to ask him does he come her alone, or with company, but as soon as she prepares to ask that of him she loses her nerve. "Say it, Ruth. What is it you're dying to ask me?"

"Do you usually come here alone, or …?" She can't say what she wants to say. It is too personal, and divulges too much of her private musings about him.

"Or?"

"You know what I mean." Ruth has dropped her eyes, too embarrassed to watch him for fear he'll begin making fun of her.

Harry sits back against the leather cushion which separates their booth from the one next to them, where another middle-aged couple are eating silently while avoiding one another's eyes. "Mostly I come here alone, but whenever I am … seeing a woman whom I like .. a lot I usually bring her here, just to see how she copes with it."

"_Copes_ with it? Is there a lewd live act come midnight?"

Harry slowly shakes his head. Ruth is relieved to see him smiling. "It's my own personal equivalent to introducing a woman to my children … to see how they get on. If my companion likes this place, that's usually a good sign."

It's clear to Ruth that she's passed the test, but she believes that they should change the subject. They are skating on _very_ thin ice. Although she'd like to ask how many women have approved of this small, out-of-the-way bistro, she will never ask him.

"Only two women, Ruth."

Ruth's eyes dart up to meet his. "What?"

"Only two women have liked this place, although in fairness to women in general, you are only around the fourth woman I have brought here. The first one was my wife, and she'd no sooner sat down than she insisted we leave."

"I rather like places like this," she says quickly, not wanting to hear any more about the woman Harry was once married to. "It's .. unpretentious."

"_Exactly_," he says, lifting his wine glass to her in a mock salute before quaffing the remainder of the wine.

Ruth is saved from having to hear about the other two women Harry had brought to this place by the waiter delivering their bowls of soup. "I should have brought my snorkel and flippers," she says lightly, noting the size of their plates. Harry nods before tucking into his.

* * *

They have almost finished their soup when Harry again brings up the subject of the Eyes Only document. Ruth knows they need to address the subject, but she also wishes that while they are like this, enjoying a meal together, their respective guards down, that they can for these few precious moments forget about their lives outside these walls. Perhaps that is too much to ask, especially when she can see that Harry needs to talk to her about it.

"What do you think, Ruth?"

"The soup is delicious," she says, having to leave the last few spoonfuls because she can't fit in any more.

"I meant the document," he says quietly. "I know you photographed it."

Ruth's eyes dart up to meet his. "Should I not have done that? I save all my images and videos on a memory card. That way, if ever I have to hand in my phone -"

"It's fine, Ruth. I expected no less of you, although perhaps I should take possession of that memory card." Ruth mentally goes through all the images and videos she has saved on the memory card, just in case there is anything of a personal nature which she doesn't wish to share with him. "There's no hurry. When you're ready."

She is about to reply to him when from inside his jacket pocket Harry's phone rings. He glances across to Ruth apologetically. "Sorry about this. It's probably Ros." He checks the name of the caller before answering. "Ros. What is it? Can't it wait?"

Ruth waits while Harry listens to what Ros has to tell him. When he says, "Do you want me to come and deal with this?" she suspects that whatever is happening on the Grid is connected with the document Harry had been reading. "I'm nearby. At _Ja__cks__on's_." He listens for a moment longer while Ros speaks. "Well, you know where to find me, Ros. I'll still be here if you need to report to me further." Harry looks up to where Ruth is still watching him. "Are you in a hurry to be home?" he asks her. When she shakes her head he suggests he order another bottle of wine.

"I'd love a coffee," Ruth replies.

* * *

Over their coffee Harry fills her in about Ros's phone call.

"Two goons from the top floor arrived insisting they have access to all our hard drives, including the one in my office. She told them, and rightly so, that there is a right way and a wrong way to go about that, and that they had chosen the wrong way. They know as well as I do that the only way to do a hard drive search is to fill out a separate application for each hard drive, itemising their reasons. The whole thing has to be put before parliament before they can even begin." Harry's eyes are cast down, and he is fiddling with his teaspoon. Ruth knows that look; she knows that gesture. Harry is worried.

"Perhaps this is the beginning of the end, Harry."

He lifts his eyes, sits back, and sighs heavily. "I suspect you're right. According to the report I was reading earlier this evening, the very concept of section heads is soon to be a thing of the past, and most positions will be on a contract basis only. The only staff who are assured of a job are technical staff, some field agents, and most of the analysts, so your position is probably safe."

"If you go, then so will I," she says quickly, having spoken directly from her gut. "Without you the job is just a job."

"While I'm grateful for your loyalty, Ruth, you shouldn't act hastily. You might even be able to bargain with them. You could probably name your price."

"But it's not about the money, Harry. I mean it. If you go, then so will I."

Again Harry sighs heavily before taking a careful sip from his cup of coffee. Then he clasps his hands on the table in front of him. "The world is changing fast, and I'm not sure I want to be part of the intelligence service of the future. I think there's a much darker side to these proposed changes."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure that the proposed intelligence service is altogether on the level. All it will take is a rapidly drawn up act of Parliament to turn the whole culture of the service on its head. Tonight's attempted raid on the Grid is only the beginning."

Ruth replies quickly. "Which is the chief reason I no longer wish to be a part of it. While change is inevitable, changes such as these are a sure sign of things to come."

Harry grunts, his gruff, bear-like grunt; it is what he does when he has nothing more to say on a matter. Ruth decides they need to change the subject. Today is October 31, which means …

"I'm sure you've remembered that tomorrow is your birthday." Harry looks up, his eyes wary. "I need to warn you that I don't have a gift for you. Normally I would have prepared ahead, and I'd have something for you, but it's -"

Harry's smile is slow and lopsided. "Oh, I don't know about that, Ruth. You've already offered me your loyalty, and you've listened to me, and given me counsel. Gifts such as these cannot be bought, or wrapped in expensive paper with ribbon tied around them. Whenever I've needed a friend, or an ally you've been there."

"Is that what I am, Harry? A friend … an ally?"

Again he sighs heavily. "You must know that you are so much more than that. I didn't wish to ..."

"To presume anything?"

Harry nods, clearly trying hard to hide his embarrassment. "You are ... so much more to me than a friend, although I could use a trusted friend right now."

Ruth is surprised, and even shocked by what next falls from her lips unedited. "Perhaps there is more that I can … offer you."

Harry's eyes widen. "Steady on, Ruth. You'll have me experiencing hope ... and even optimism."

She doesn't quite know how to reply to his careful declaration, so she reaches out to grasp his fingers between hers. She is relieved when he doesn't pull away. More than that, he returns her gesture by wrapping his whole hand around hers, so that even had she wanted to, she can't pull away. His hand is warm, his grasp strong and steady. He lifts his eyes, and she is determined to hold his focused gaze, even though his thoughts, his hopes for them both are clearly written on his face. What surprises her most is how_ right_ it feels to be sitting like this … with him.

They watch one another across the table. Neither wishes to break the spell, so neither speaks. After several minutes Harry consults his watch, fortunately on the wrist of his left hand, while with his right hand he still holds Ruth's hand firmly in his. "It's been almost forty-five minutes since Ros rang. It should be all sorted by now."

With those words, Harry's attention is drawn to something behind Ruth's left shoulder. She is about to turn to follow his gaze when she hears a familiar voice from behind her. "I thought I'd pop in and join you for a drink. You hadn't warned me you had company," Ros says smoothly. It is only then that Ros's gaze takes in the tableau of the two of them sitting across the table, their hands still joined on the table top.

"Would you like to join us for a drink, Ros?" Harry asks smoothly, determined to maintain his hold on Ruth's hand throughout this interruption, well-meaning as it is.

"Er … maybe another time," Ros replies carefully, her eyes still on their hands. "You appear … busy. I just needed to say that for now the situation on the Grid is sorted."

"Sit next to me on this bench, Ros," Ruth says quickly, aware of Ros's clear unease. "I need to go and … powder my nose," and Ruth has slid off the seat, her hand slipping from Harry's, before she heads straight for the ladies' loos. _I may never __again__ be able to look Ros in the eye, _she thinks, as she pushes open the door to an empty stall in the toilets, and sits on the closed lid. She'll give them five minutes, and then she'd better return to their table, or else Harry may think she's scarpered.

* * *

Ten minutes later Ruth returns to their table to find Ros sitting across from Harry, an almost empty half of lager held between her fingers.

"We were worried you'd fallen in and drowned," Ros quips as Ruth carefully sits beside her.

"I ..." but Ruth can't think of any reply which wouldn't make her sound defensive, so she says nothing more.

"All's well at the coal-face," Ros adds, "for now. I thought Harry needed to know the details straight from the horse's mouth, otherwise he'd probably turn up at the Grid, all guns blazing. You can't know how relieved I was to find him still here, having a nice evening out with a friend."

Ros's words were addressed directly to Ruth, and yet Ruth, as usual, is finding it hard to determine whether Ros is speaking from the heart, or taking the piss. She concludes that the other woman speaks a little from her heart, while what remains should not always be taken seriously. She nods her reply, having nothing more to say to the woman whose arrival had ended the delightful interlude with Harry.

Suddenly Ros gets to her feet, standing beside the table. "I think I might head off now, and leave you to .. enjoy your evening," she says, turning to weave her way between the tables, and out into the night.

"You were .. confrontational," Ruth says quietly once Ros has gone.

"If you mean my continuing to hold your hand despite your clear wish to slide under the table -" Ruth briefly lifts her eyes and nods. "I was setting a new normal, Ruth. Besides, we can trust Ros not to be a purveyor of gossip."

Again Ruth lifts her eyes to his, but this time she nods.

"You're angry with her," Harry adds gently, his eyes on her.

"Not her, no. I'm angry that I allow myself to be upset by her. I'm sure she means well."

"Not always," he replies quickly. "While you were away I found that I depended on her support, but even then, there is a side to Ros which can be … caustic. She's one of the finest field officers I've ever worked with, but she's a harsh critic of others, as well as of herself." Ruth nods absently, taking her eyes from him. "And she probably has the worst timing of anyone in the known universe," he adds quietly, which draws a smile from Ruth.

* * *

When they step onto the pavement from the bistro they walk closely without actually touching. Desiring the closeness they'd had before Ros had turned up Ruth reaches out to grasp Harry's hand. The night is cool, the air crisp, but surprisingly not quite cold enough for gloves, and for that small blessing they are both grateful, as Harry laces his fingers between Ruth's.

"Are you cold?" he asks once they leave the lane.

"Not any more," she replies. "Where are we headed?" she adds. "To the Grid?" And when Harry nods she adds, "To work?"

"No. While you were in the loo I rang my driver. He can drive us both home."

"Together?"

"Until we reach your flat, from where he'll then drive me to mine."

Ruth squeezes his fingers in thanks. While she is relieved they have made progress towards one another, she doesn't want them to be diving in the deep end before she is ready. She needs time to assess their progress, to move it around inside her head, going over what has happened between them on this night so that she can anticipate more nights such as this one. That is enough for her for now, although she knows Harry will soon be wanting more.

Until then Ruth is content.

"It's almost your birthday," she says playfully, and Harry again offers one of his bear-like grunts.

"Bloody birthdays," he says. "Whoever invented birthdays should be shot."

"I don't think anyone _invented _them, Harry. I think they just _are_."

"Like politicians … or terrorists."

"I think you'll find terrorists are an invention of the modern world."

"While the word may be modern, the behaviour is ancient. Remember that kid who pulled your pigtails when you were in junior primary?"

"I didn't have pigtails back then."

"You know what I mean."

She does, of course, but she likes … no, _loves_ arguing with Harry about things of little consequence. That is something they do really well, something they both enjoy. In time, hopefully there will be more that they find they enjoy doing together. As much as she looks forward to that, Ruth is prepared to wait.

"Here we are," he says, leading her towards where Thomas already stands beside the limousine, his hand on the open door to the back seat. "Care to share the back seat with me?" Harry whispers playfully, out of his driver's earshot.

Inside the limousine Ruth sits primly beside him, glancing into the rear view mirror to see Thomas's attention fully focused on the road. Only then does she sit back, allowing herself to relax a little. Being Saturday night the traffic is heavy, and it may be well over an hour before they reach her flat. An hour which she is spending alone – almost – in the back of a limousine with Harry.

"What happened to the other woman?" Ruth blurts out, since now they are sitting in near darkness, it is safe to raise the subject.

"What other woman?" In the dark she can feel his eyes on her.

"The other one who liked the bistro .. when you took her there .. to _test_ her."

"Oh, _her_. She wasn't you, Ruth. She just .. wasn't you."

Ruth smiles at the city as it whizzes by. _Thank you,_ she says silently, as she reaches out to grasp Harry's hand, and he replies with a squeeze of her hand. _Thank you, wherever you are, for not being me._


End file.
